The Boy In The Mirror

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When Harry awoke, it was dark. Dark and silent.

At first he didn't know where he was, but then he noticed the familiar scratchiness of the fabric below him, and the musty smell he had long since grown used to. He was in his cupboard. What had happened? How did he end up there? The last thing he remembered was...

He grimaced. That...that could not have been real. Magic was fine, he could believe in vanishing coins and invisible pushes and pulls. But the memories that were slowly seeping into his awareness...he felt as if he had been possessed. By the devil.

His whole body protested as he sat up. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, but, miraculously, he didn't think anything was broken.

He felt like his body was going to fall apart as he trudged up the stairs as quietly as possible, determined to at the very least wipe the dried blood off his face. He hated the feeling of dry blood. It was sticky, and it smelled vile, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep until his face was clean.

The smallest semblance of victory crept into his tired mind as he finally found his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him with a quiet click. He turned on the tap only slightly and wet his hands before rubbing his face, doing his best to ignore the pain. He should probably disinfect the cuts too, he thought to himself. They were probably pretty deep.

He sighed. He tended to heal very quickly, but they would still probably take forever to heal, and his face probably looked awful. He really didn't want to see it, but steeling himself, he looked up at the mirror, almost recoiling at the sight of all the crimson painting his face, not to mention the nasty bruise that had formed on his chin and over his left eye.

He was about to reach for the soap and begin what would no doubt be a painful and arduous disinfecting process when he froze. Something was not right. Unease filled his already sore chest, and he felt his hairs standing on end. He felt afraid. Why? What was going on? But suddenly it made sense; for when he looked more closely at his face in the mirror, but he saw, instead of the vivacious green eyes he had grown used to, two crimson orbs staring back at him.

"Harry Potter," the boy in the mirror said softly.

He stepped back in shock, almost falling over. He took a deep breath. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought," he said, smiling weakly in the mirror.

His reflection did not return the sentiment.

"You are not dreaming Harry Potter, nor is your mind playing tricks on you."

The smile drained from Harry's face, along with any lifelike colour that had graced it a moment ago. "Who...what...?"

Slowly, the figure in the mirror smiled at him. It was a cold smile, betraying not a single emotion. "What, you don't know who I am, Harry?"

Harry stared into his doppelganger's eyes, his mind finally starting to catch up with him. He was in the bathroom...looking in the mirror...but his reflection was nowhere to be seen. Instead, someone else was staring back at him with his own face. Someone who knew him.

Someone with a cold smile that seemed to grow at the sight of Harry's fear and confusion. This...person...knew him. Not many people knew Harry - not many people who might manage to find themselves inside a bathroom mirror. It was almost like...magic.

Magic...

Then it was obvious - this could only be one person.

"Tom Riddle."

The boy in the mirror grinned at him. "My, you are a clever boy, aren't you?"

Harry's breaths were shallow. "How can you be here? You're just a dream..."

"Come now, Harry, I was never just a dream."

It was true. Tom Riddle had always been more to him than a mere dream. Harry knew that...but he'd never really thought about it - if Tom Riddle was more than just a dream, what was he?

"I assure you," the boy continued, "I'm just as real as you are."

Harry took a deep breath and stepped closer to the mirror. "Then...you're really here? How can you be here?"

The other boy's eyes grew wide, a strange light flickering in them as his grin widened. "Magic."

"But...how? You were in my dreams...how did you end up inside my bathroom mirror?"

The other boy shook his head. "Silly boy. I'm not in your mirror."

I'm in your head.

Harry's eyes widened.

"I've been watching you Harry Potter, and you've been watching me. I watch you walk and talk in my own skin every night, just as I see what you see, hear what you hear, smell what you smell, taste what you taste, and feel just as you do. We are together, Harry, always. I live vicariously through you, just as in your dreams, you live vicariously through me. Magic has bound us together, and nothing can tear us apart.

"Know this, Harry - you are never alone."

Harry really didn't know how to respond to that.